Mogworld

by Yahtzee Croshaw

  “I won’t care, because I’ll be dead,” I replied.

  Somewhere off to the left a whistle blew and we heard the thunderous noise of many absurdly skinny dogs sprinting across the track towards us. Slippery John, meanwhile, had rolled onto his back and was twitching his paws, possibly in expectation of a cuddle.

  “Well, that’s about as undesirable a situation a rabbit could possibly be a rabbit in,” I said, as Slippery John’s animal form disappeared behind various shades of stubby fur and rangy muscle. A despairing squeal was just about audible over the barking, but it was hard to tell if it had come from a rabbit or a freshly restored Slippery John.

  “Wait, I think it worked,” said Meryl. “Look, a scrap of black cloth just flew out.”

  “Let’s give it a few more minutes, just in case,” I said, not looking away.

  “Fair enough.” She looked around. “Hey, what’s going on over there?”

  I followed her pointing finger. Around the entrance of the dog track the usual traffic of men in dirty tweed suits and flat caps was being smartened up by the presence of numerous people in bright white robes, the well-trodden muddy ground doing no favors to their pristine hems. They appeared to be handing out leaflets.

  I swiftly lost interest and looked back down. “Ah, there we go. The dogs worked.”

  Meryl also looked. “A little too well, perhaps.”

  The dogs had quickly parted ways with Slippery John after he’d gone limp and unentertaining. They continued with the race, leaving behind what looked like an enormous, badly-made pancake mingled with a few random spatterings of raw mince and a selection of black rags.

  “Anyone know where to find a church?” I asked aloud.

  —

  “Slippery John finds himself a little bemused by recent events,” said Slippery John, later. “One second Slippery John was talking to you, the next Slippery John was being torn apart by wild dogs.”

  We were walking along a street in one of the lower-rent districts, where the corpse collection points were spaced a little further apart and the stink of rotting flesh was overpowering. Fortunately I didn’t have a nose, Meryl was used to it, and it seemed to take some time for messages to travel from Slippery John’s nostrils to his brain, so none of us were affected.

  “So, Slippery John was a rabbit?” said Slippery John. “This is completely news to Slippery John. The primal rabbit mind must obviously have taken over and made Slippery John completely unaccountable for any embarrassing things Slippery John may or may not have possibly done while in that form.”

  “Well, thank god for that,” I muttered dryly.

  “Yes, speaking of, where’s that religious friend of yours? Slippery John admits he was a little nervous about introducing Civious to that guy.”

  “He’s being held hostage by underground cave dwellers,” said Meryl.

  “And it’s your fault,” I added.

  “Don’t fret. Rescuing hostages is Slippery John’s forte. Slippery John’ll get on top of that later. But in the meantime, priorities! We have to pick up the wife.”

  “I thought you were only engaged?” asked Meryl.

  “Slippery John found a little chapel while you were playing around with the Adventurer’s Guild. Really nice service. Held up Drylda with a broomstick and had someone work her mouth to do the vows. Slippery John would’ve invited you shades of nightmare but, you know, probably not your scene. No blood sacrifices to horrific cosmic deities or anything.”

  “So where did you leave her?” I asked, wanting to change the subject before Slippery John decided to tell us how he spent his wedding night.

  “The usual place where you leave bodies. In a gutter.”

  Sure enough, Drylda was slumped in a gutter outside a small adventurer’s hostel in a particularly unpleasant district, mingling with a pile of local corpses. Her tanned, technically living flesh easily stood out against the alabaster white and gray-green of the genuine dead, like a peanut on a pile of rotten macaroni.

  “There you are, dear,” said Slippery John, hauling her onto his shoulders and tottering only slightly under the weight. “Going to meet some interesting new people. You remember these servants of darkness?” He froze for a second. “Hey, do you smell something?”

  “Well, I didn’t expect to run into you chaps again,” said Benjamin.

  Those were precisely our sentiments as we saw who was standing behind us: the mage whom we had last seen having unruly spells cast from his incomplete corpse. Meryl stiffened. I immediately began summoning a firebolt. Slippery John dropped into something approaching a threatening martial arts pose with all the impact of a kitten arching its back and mewing dangerously.

  “Easy there,” said Benjamin. He displayed his palms in what was either a gesture of peace or the casting stance for a Level 52 Exploding Bones Curse. “I’m past all that mercenary adventuring nonsense. I’ve got a true calling.”

  He was wearing one of the pristine white robes we’d seen being modeled at the dog track. He’d shaved off his beard and sculpted his hair into the kind of oiled, presentable arrangement one assembles when being introduced to one’s fiancee’s parents. As I took this all in, his use of the word “calling” began to feel a little ominous. “What are you doing here?!” I said.

  “Just wanted to say hello.” He seemed perplexed by the notion that we’d hold a grudge, or expect him to hold one for our spectacular misuse of his body. “That’s what you do when you see people you know, isn’t it?”

  “I meant . . . what are you doing here, on this continent?”

  “As part of the recruitment drive. Look, have a leaflet.” There was something spacey about him, like he’d been drugged, or finally found true love somewhere where there were a lot of gas leaks. “I was like you once, full of anger and tormented every waking second by inhuman desires to blast the flesh from the bones of my enemies.” I noticed the corner of his mouth twitch before he continued. “But then I discovered the Truth, and dedicated myself to spreading the joy.”

  I inspected the leaflet. It was professionally printed on glossy paper, and was headed with the words, “IT’S TIME FOR THE TRUTH! IT’S TRUTH THIRTY!”

  “What truth?” asked Meryl.

  “Truth. Capital T. The Truth about the world in which we live. And by joining the world’s fastest growing religion, you can learn exactly what that Truth is.”

  “You mean how it’s being run by mystical beings who like possessing adventurers?” said Meryl. “‘Cos we already figured that one out.”

  “Did we? Slippery John didn’t,” said Slippery John. “Huh. That’s a bit of a downer, isn’t it.”

  Benjamin seemed impressed. “I see you have been privy already to some of the LORD’s teachings. But it is by no means a downer, my slippery brother. Hearing the Truth is what sparked this wonderful change in me. But I suspect you have more to learn, brothers and sister. If you knew the whole Truth, you would understand.”

  I picked through the leaflet. It seemed like the standard sort of religious rhetoric, the same kind of thing I’d made a small collection of back at Dreadgrave’s fortress when I’d been trying to find the right religion for permanent death. As per usual, it made a big thing of the Truth it was peddling while revealing as little of it as possible, because this sort of group generally didn’t try to feed you their really mythical nonsense until your first cheque cleared.

  “Glad to hear things are looking up for you. We’ll be off now,” I said quickly, jerking my thumb over my shoulder in a very obvious gesture that went completely over his head.

  “That’s okay. You’ll learn the Truth with everyone else as soon as the LORD comes,” said Benjamin.

  “Awesome. Well, this isn’t really my scene but I’ll pass this onto a guy I know who’s into this kind of thing . . .” I made that gesture again.

  “He should be coming any moment now. We went on ahead while He stopped at a rest stop for the night but He should be along soon if He didn’t set off too late
in the day.”

  That was a new one. I frowned in confusion for a moment before a sudden horrible realization pulled down on my stomach and pushed my eyeballs half out of my face. “This LORD of yours . . . you wouldn’t be talking about Barry, by any chance?”

  “He prefers to be referred to as the LORD these days,” said Benjamin cheerfully. “That or Divine Holiness. Or Bazzer when He’s had a few.”

  “This is a . . . bad thing, right?” said Meryl, taking a guess from the look on my face.

  “When you say fastest-growing, how fast are we talking about?” I said, slowly and carefully.

  “Within the last month we absorbed forty-five percent of all worldly religions,” said Benjamin casually. “Most of the nations of Garethy have already turned themselves over . . .” I didn’t catch the end of his sentence because I was running away as fast as my ratty wooden leg would allow.

  Now I remembered where I’d seen those white cultist robes before. That youth group that had blown up Barry’s church, and who’d been working for him by the time I got to Yawnbore. I’d assumed it would have taken him longer to get the world domination thing going.

  “Where’re you going?” asked Meryl, when she and Slippery John had caught up and matched pace. “Civious’s place is back that way. We have to tell him about Barry.”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” I said quickly, slowing to a stop. “But . . . if he’s coming, then I have to . . . make some preparations.”

  “What sort of preparations?” said Slippery John.

  “You know. Gathering reagents. Upgrading the robe. Mage-y sorts of preparations.” I grabbed Meryl around the arm. “And Meryl has to get some stuff for her sewing kit.”

  “I do?”

  I looked her in the eye as hard as I could. “Yes, Meryl. You’ve used most of it up keeping us all repaired and if there’s going to be a big fight then it’ll be better to be fully stocked.”

  “Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Slippery John, you go back to Civious and we’ll meet you there.”

  Slippery John didn’t move. One of his eyes narrowed and he gave me a sidelong look. “Wait a minute. How does Slippery John know you’re not thinking of running away before Barry gets here?”

  “Oh, come on,” said Meryl. Slippery John ignored her, keeping eye contact with me.

  I hesitated for a painful few seconds, then a sudden thought ticked a few boxes in my head and my hand flew to my pocket. “Here,” I said, handing over my half of Mr. Wonderful’s tracking Reetle. “If you have something of mine, I’ll have to come back.” I watched as he gave it a silent inspection, possibly assigning a monetary value in his head. “Otherwise I might lose it,” I added.

  “Well, all right then,” he said finally, pocketing it and shouldering his wife. “Doesn’t hurt to give a little now and then, does it, dead man.”

  I watched his little black form scamper off into the shadows, open-mouthed with surprise at how easy it had been. Then Meryl plucked at my sleeve, and I immediately began fast-walking in the opposite direction.

  The fast-walk slowed down by several orders of magnitude as we neared the city walls. The streets were becoming matted with crowds. It was the first time I’d seen so many people in one place in Lolede City; people who weren’t either adventurers or dead, that is. They were squeezing themselves around a snake-like train of tightly gridlocked carriages that led all the way to the western gate. And moving through the gathered populace only became harder when Meryl started pulling on my elbow.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” said Meryl. “Shops are this way.”

  It was probably time she knew. “We’re not going to the shops.”

  “Well . . . where else do we buy things?”

  “We’re not going to buy things. What we’re going to do is go out the city gates and start walking.”

  “And then what?”

  “Actually we’re pretty much just going to keep doing that. Probably until we reach an ocean. Or a big hole in the ground.”

  Understanding finally crashed into place behind her eyes, erasing her vacant smile. “You’re going to run away. So Slippery John was right.”

  “I know—isn’t that a frightening thought. But we don’t want to be around when Barry gets here.”

  “There’s no reason to be so scared.”

  “Do you even listen to yourself? You remember what he was like in Yawnbore!”

  “But now we’ve got Civious to protect us! He’s more than a match for Barry!”

  “Have you seen how he looks at us? He’s trying to think of the best time to get us on a slab and figure out how we work.”

  “Oh, he is not. And anyway, what about getting deleted?”

  “I’ve weighed it up and I’m prepared to put that goal on the back burner for now. Look, we’ll hang out in a cave somewhere nearby and wait and see what happens, and after Barry leaves we’ll just come back and tell Civious we had trouble figuring out the one-way system, all right?”

  While I was babbling I was edging my way through the throng towards the gate. No-one in the crowd seemed to be particularly concerned; most of them were just waiting to be let by. I jumped up and down a few times to try and see what was blocking the traffic, and caught a glimpse over everyone’s heads of a much livelier commotion just outside the gate. There was a mass of white clothing, and I could just make out the faint “ting”s of finger bells. Then I jumped into someone’s rear axle and bounced off onto my arse.

  Meryl shook herself free of my grasp. “I’m going back to them.”

  I deflected numerous pairs of legs and pulled myself upright. Meryl’s bobbing pigtails were already disappearing from view between the bored, sweaty peasants. I took another look towards the gate, but the crowd had formed a solid wall, blocking my escape.

  I came to a quick decision, then ran off after Meryl. Behind me, I heard the crowd moan in dismay as the western gate’s portcullis thundered down.

  TEN

  From: Internal Net Security

  To: “William Williams”

 

  Subject: Your message has been denied

  The email you sent to Brian Garret (enclosed below) has been rejected by security filters on the following grounds:

  (67771): nice try fat boy

  Please review the content of your message and try again. This is an automated message and no reply is necessary, although computers do sometimes like being appreciated too.

  - Loincloth Entertainment Internal Net Security

  From: “William Williams”

 

  To: “Brian Garret”

 

  Subject: Simon

  Dear Mr Garret,

  This is Bill Williams from the Mogworld project. I am writing to formerly ask that Simon be removed from the porject. I saw him doing something wierd to the moderator toolsets he isnt supposed to be using and I think he might be up to somthing. Also I cant prove it but I looked over his sholder yesterday and I’m pretty sure I caught him trying to access the internal net security protocols. Im pretty sure you can fire him for that.

  Yours sincerely

  William Williams

  Mogworld project

  Office 418

  This Building

  “That was quick,” said Slippery John, as Meryl and I sullenly re-entered the lair of the Magic Resistance.

  “Early closing,” I growled, bitterly.

  “This mortal, this Barry,” said Baron Civious, standing at full imposing height and going over a few scrolls while his wife and Slippery John lay Drylda out on a slab. “Is he truly as powerful as Slippery John claims? From whence did he come?”

  “He was a nobody vicar for some nobody religion back in Garethy,” I explained. “He threw in his lot with the Deleters and for some reason they gave him huge amounts of power in return for doing little jobs for them.” I explained about Yawnbore and the level of magic Barry had been showin
g off, that had allowed him to simultaneously float a foot off the air, regenerate from any injury, maintain a magical barrier the size of an entire town, and reduce human beings to piles of dandruff.

  “The beings that conquered our world have chosen an avatar, a spokesman,” pondered Civious, stroking his extruding cheekbone. “Could he be powerful enough to match even me?”

  “Well, if you’re concerned about that, maybe you could get a bit of exercise by lifting a finger to help,” said Mrs. Civious, arranging Drylda’s legs. “And stop stroking your extruding cheekbone, or it’ll never get better.”

  “James, there is a line of inquiry I believe you can assist with. You have had your eyes replaced with eyes from an octopus, and they are fully functional, correct?”

  “Ugh, there you go again with the stating the obvious,” muttered Mrs. Civious. “It’s not like he was bumping into walls the whole way here . . .”

  “They’re functional in the sense that I can see through them, but not in the sense of people being able to look at them without throwing up . . .”

  “I am intrigued by what you told me earlier,” interrupted Civious, looming over Drylda’s body and carefully caressing her face, brushing her hair behind her ears. I noticed Slippery John pout jealously. “That Dreadgrave had an interest in the eyeballs of the Syndrome victims. I wish to see if there has been any change in the functioning of the eyes. Since we have both a live, vegetative Syndrome victim and an individual with replaceable body parts, we have the opportunity to fulfil my wish. And this, incidentally, was something Carlos never thought of.”

  “Oh, no-one’s impressed,” said his wife.

  Slippery John, who had been sitting by Drylda’s “bedside” fondly stroking her hand, looked up. “Hey, hey, whoa, whoa. Unless Slippery John’s grabbed the wrong end of the stick, Slippery John thinks you’re talking about scooping out his beloved’s eyeballs and putting them into a stanky dead guy’s face. No offense.”